The conversation, which had begun with the surprise of encountering Horacio and then drifted into an unexpected reflection on generosity, slowly died down. The day's exhaustion, laden not with physical labor but with a rollercoaster of emotions and revelations, was beginning to take its toll on everyone.
"Well," Fernando said, yawning widely, "I think this empire builder needs to recharge his batteries. It's been a… long day."
Ruby nodded, her green eyes also reflecting a serene fatigue. "I agree. A little rest will do us all good."
They decided then to retire to their respective rooms. Thorne Mansion sank back into its nocturnal quiet, though this time, for Lysandra, it was a quiet populated by more ghosts and more questions than ever before.
Upon reaching her spacious bedroom, with its high ceilings and antique furniture that seemed to whisper stories in the dim light, Lysandra felt profoundly exhausted. The day, despite not having been a workday in the strict sense, had emotionally drained her. Meeting Ruby, Fernando's torrential arrival, Agnes's departure with the worry for her mother, the disconcerting reunion with Horacio… everything was spinning in her head like an unstoppable carousel. And beneath it all, the weight of the chest, of her parents' secrets, of that complex love and hidden tragedies.
She took a long, warm shower, letting the water wash away some of the superficial tension, but knowing that the internal turmoil would take much longer to settle. As she emerged, wrapped in a silk robe, her violet eyes fell upon her bedside table. There, next to her journal, were the other three letters she had instinctively taken from her parents' chest that very morning, after the first unsettling revelations. Letters that, at the time, she hadn't had the fortitude to open, but now, in the solitude of the night and with that strange energy still vibrating within her, called to her with a silent urgency.
With a sigh, she sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the first envelope, the old, fragile paper between her fingers. The handwriting was her father's, Julian's, addressed to "My heaven, Elara."
She fell asleep reading them, the words of intense, passionate love weaving into her dreams, a counterpoint to the anguish of the previous night.
First Letter (From Julian to Elara):
"My adored Elara, my midnight Sun,
I still feel the fire of your lips on mine, the echo of your laughter entangled in my soul like the sweetest, most persistent ivy. This distance, even if only a few hours until dawn reunites us, feels like an unbearable eternity. How could I have lived before you, Elara? How did I breathe this air when it wasn't permeated with your essence, with the perfume of your skin that drives me mad?
I close my eyes and I see you: your obsidian hair shining under the moon, your eyes—those stars that hold all the mysteries of the universe—looking at me with that intensity that strips my soul bare and then reclothes it in glory. You are the storm I longed for and the harbor where I always want to anchor, my raven-haired queen. Every pore of my being calls for you, needs you as the earth needs rain in a drought. There is no corner of my thoughts that does not belong to you, no heartbeat that does not utter your name. Return quickly to my arms, my life, for this heart without you is a desert awaiting the miracle of your presence.
Yours until madness and beyond,
Julian."
Lysandra felt a lump in her throat. The raw passion, the almost painful devotion in her father's words was a torrent that enveloped her. She picked up the next letter, Elara's reply, her handwriting more restrained but no less intense.
Second Letter (From Elara to Julian):
"Julian of my soul, my untamable lion,
Your words are embers that ignite fires in my blood. Distance? What is distance when your memory embraces me more forcefully than any physical presence? Yes, I too count the hours, the minutes, the seconds until I can lose myself again in the depths of your gaze, until I can feel your heartbeat against mine, marking the only rhythm my life wishes to dance to.
You call me yours, and I am, Julian, as yours as the night is to the morning star, as the river is to the sea. But do not think for an instant that this surrender is submission. It is choice. It is the recognition of a soul that has found its match, its accomplice in madness, and its refuge in the storm. Your fire does not consume me; it enlivens me. Your passion does not frighten me; it liberates me.
Last night, under the same moon that surely watched over you, I thought of us. Of this 'fever' that binds us, as you call it. And I understood that it is not sickness, my love, it is the purest, wildest health. It is life itself reclaiming its right to be lived without half-measures, without cowardice. I await you with an open soul and a longing body. Do not delay, my love, for every instant without you is a star мужчины (extinguishing) in my sky.
Yours, in this fever and in all those to come,
Elara."
Lysandra had to pause for a moment, the intensity of her parents' emotions vibrating through the paper, transmitting themselves to her across the years. She picked up the third letter, from Julian again, the ink a little more faded, as if written with a feverish urgency.
Third Letter (From Julian to Elara):
"My Elara, lighthouse of my storms,
I have read and reread your letter until the words have been seared into my memory. Blessed be this fever of ours! Blessed be the madness that found us! Let the world judge, let the prudent and the cowardly whisper. What do they know of this love that is cataclysm and paradise पुलिस (at once)? What do they understand of this thirst that only your lips can quench, of this emptiness that only your presence can fill until it overflows the soul?
You are my greatest discovery, Elara, more valuable than any lost city, brighter than any hidden treasure. And I swear, by this love that consumes me and gives me life, that I will explore every corner of your being, every secret of your heart, with the same devotion with which a pilgrim seeks a sacred shrine. Because you, my love, you are my most sacred place.
Wait for me awake, or dream with me. I am coming to you.
Julian."
Lysandra let the letters fall onto the duvet, her own cheeks damp without her having realized it. The day's exhaustion now mingled with an overwhelming emotion, a mixture of awe, melancholy, and a profound longing. This was the love that had bound her parents, an elemental force, a passion that defied logic and time.
She snuggled under the covers, Julian and Elara's words echoing in her mind. The ancestral energy of the jaguar, the confusion over Horacio, Fernando and Ruby's arrival, the secrets of the chest… everything swirled. But as she drifted into sleep, it was the image of that intense, passionate love, so vividly painted in those ancient letters, that prevailed, leaving her with a silent, persistent question: could she, ever, dare to love like that?